


The Grocer and The Prince

by HildyJ



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Culture Shock, Dimension Travel, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Quest for Erebor, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5239904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HildyJ/pseuds/HildyJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes separate worlds touch briefly, allowing travel from one place to another. But no matter the world, Bilbo and Thorin seem to always find each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grocer and The Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usoppnomiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/usoppnomiko/gifts).



> This was prompted by [Usoppnomiko](http://usoppnomiko.tumblr.com/) who wanted a modern AU with time travel.

Bilbo’s walk slowed until it was only a shuffling step. It was a late Friday night, and he had been hurrying home to his flat until he caught sight of the odd-looking person who sat quietly on a bench in the park. The weather was warm for spring but this someone was dressed for a cold winter with what looked to be a fur-lined coat and heavy boots. 

Bilbo stopped completely about ten feet away from the bench, not wanting to get too close if the person turned out to be dangerous.

He cleared his throat. ‘Uhm…Hey?’

This close he could make out a strong profile with a beard and long, dark hair falling over the very real-looking fur of the coat. 

The person on the bench said nothing, only crossing his arms tighter over his chest.

Bilbo stayed where he was. ‘You okay?’

The stranger turned his head slightly towards him, the light from the single lamppost above him bringing out a flash of blue eyes. ‘Are you speaking to me?’

Bilbo blinked in surprise. The stranger was quite good-looking with his severe nose and gorgeous eyes. And while the long hair and beard combination was usually found on aging bikers and fans of classic rock, this man pulled off the entire look with aplomb. Despite the odd costume.

‘Uh, yeah,’ he said. ‘It’s just that it’s getting pretty late and they close the park--’ Bilbo fished out his phone from his pocket and checked the time, ‘- in about 15 minutes, so maybe you should start thinking about going home?’

The stranger barked out a short laugh. ‘Going home? That is all I have been thinking about since I arrived in this foreign land. But I have to wait for the wizard to finish his little amusement.’

‘The wizard?’ Bilbo frowned as he looked around, almost expecting to find someone in a pointy hat and a robe playing a game of croquet on the lawn behind him. Then it struck him.

‘Oh, I see! You’re doing cosplay, right?’ He smiled as he walked closer, suddenly more comfortable with the situation.

‘Cosplay?’

‘Yeah, or LARPing or you just came from a Renaissance Faire or something, right? That would explain the voice, as well,’ Bilbo finished with a grin.

‘The voice?’

‘The way you talk? Like King Arthur addressing his knights of the round table. All booming and with _grand import_ ,’ Bilbo said, straining to get his voice as deep as the stranger’s. ‘Is that who you are? King Arthur?’

The stranger sighed. ‘I do not know who this King Arthur is, but I am not he. I am Prince Thorin of Erebor.’

Bilbo pursed his lips. ‘No, never heard of him. Which show is he from?’

‘Show?’

‘Or, you know, book or movie or whatever.’

The stranger growled in irritation before pushing away from the bench until he stood in front of Bilbo. ‘I already told you: I come from the kingdom of Erebor, the greatest dwarven kingdom of all Middle-earth. I am Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, crown prince to the throne. I do not know King Arthur or his _knights_ or his blasted round table!’ He sniffed through his nose before continuing in a lower voice. ‘Now, will you cease with your inane questions and leave me be to wait for the wizard?’

‘Right, sure.’ Bilbo shook his head. ‘But there is such a thing as taking it too far, you know? I mean, it’s supposed to be a fun game.’ He took a step around the stranger and kept walking in the direction of his home. ‘If you keep acting that way, people will think you’re crazy,’ he muttered as he walked away from the nutty cosplayer.

The wind had picked up, and Bilbo closed his jacket as he walked quicker, already dreaming of the leftovers from last night’s dinner waiting for him in the fridge at home. Maybe he’d fry an egg and put on top of—

‘Unhand me this instance!’

Bilbo sighed as he stopped walking once more. That voice had already gotten too familiar.

‘Look, mate,’ another voice said behind him, ‘we’re closing the park for the night. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.’

Bilbo rolled his eyes at that tired cliché as he turned to see what was going on. A man in a hi-viz jacket had placed a firm hand on the cosplayer’s shoulder and was trying to steer him in the direction of the nearest exit. This was easily done since “Prince Thorin” was quite short, maybe about five-feet-two, five-feet-three while the park worker was easily six feet tall. Bilbo measured up his own five-feet-six against the situation at hand and tried a different approach to diffuse it.

‘Excuse me,’ he said walking back towards the two others. ‘That’s my friend. Thank you so much for finding him; I’ve been looking for him for ages!’ he said with his practiced, pleasant smile.

‘I am no friend of his,’ Thorin said, wrenching his shoulder away from the park worker’s grip, ‘and I am not moving until I am home again.’

‘Well, unless you live in the park,’ the park worker said, ‘and you definitely don’t; you sorta have to move to get home.’ He pressed between Thorin’s shoulder blades, giving him a firm shove towards the exit. ‘And I’d like to get home as well. So move it!’

Thorin stumbled, nearly falling over in his heavy costume. Bilbo hurried after him, his hands almost instinctively reaching out to catch him before Thorin righted himself. 

‘You didn’t have push him around like that,’ he said, standing behind Thorin. ‘You can’t bully people just because you’re bigger than them.’

The park worker shrugged. ‘Just doing my job.’

‘Well, it’s not your job to shove people until they almost fall. That’s not right. You know, I think I’m going to write a letter to the council to tell them about--’ Bilbo stopped abruptly when he saw a glint of metal coming from Thorin’s back. A leather scabbard was attached to his wide belt and Thorin’s hand was slowly removing a long dagger from it, the large blade winking in the light from the lamppost, all of this while Thorin was staring silently at the man in front of them.

The dagger was probably some custom-made thing with a blunt edge from an online role-playing store, but the park worker – who was already on edge – wouldn’t know that. He would just see some mad man waving a knife at him and either get into a fight with him or call the police to arrest him. 

Bilbo’s mouth outran his thoughts. ‘Thorin!’ he yelled, grabbing hold of Thorin’s wrist and pushing the blade back in the scabbard with a soft snick.

‘Do not stop me,’ Thorin spoke with a low voice, still staring at the other man.

The park worker sighed. ‘Right. While you two figure things out between you, I’m calling the police.’ He fished out a clunky mobile from his pocket. ‘They know how to deal with weirdoes like you,’ he said, slowly pressing in the numbers.

Bilbo sighed. Five minutes ago, he was well on his way home. Now, he was going to spend even more time dealing with the police if he didn’t think of some way to get the cosplayer and his very real-looking dagger out of the park. 

‘Thorin?’ he said, deciding to play whatever game was needed. ‘I know you’re waiting for the wizard, but listen to me: this man is summoning the best warriors in the land to come and challenge us.’ He could hear the park worker droning into the phone next to them.

Thorin made a half-turn towards Bilbo. ‘Warriors?’

‘Seasoned and uh, experienced warriors, yes. And a lot of them.’

Thorin sniffed. ‘We can take them.’

Bilbo made a frustrated noise. ‘We really can’t, though. Because – Because I’m unarmed and you only seem to have that dagger, so, no, we can’t.’

‘If only I had Deathless with me…’ Thorin muttered.

‘Yeah,’ Bilbo said slowly, promising himself to google “Erebor” and “Thorin” when he got home. ‘And you won’t be much use to the wizard if you’re taken prisoner by these warriors. So, why don’t you come with me and we’ll return to the park tomorrow when it’s open? How’s that sound?’

Thorin turned completely to face Bilbo and studied him for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘It sounds,’ he said slowly, ‘like the first sense you have spoken since I met you.’ He nodded once. ‘I accept your offer of shelter for the night.’

‘Uh, I didn’t exactly--’

‘Lead on.’ Thorin held out his arm, indicating for Bilbo to form the vanguard of their little group.

Bilbo glanced back at the park worker who had stopped his phone call to watch them attentively. 

He sighed as he started walking away with Thorin, not knowing if he had chosen the frying pan or the fire.

 

X—X

 

It was Saturday morning and Bilbo was tip-toeing around his flat, trying to make tea with as little noise as possible to avoid waking that odd little man on the couch.

He leaned against counter as waited for the water to boil and stared numbly down at the mug. The writing on the side was fainter after many washings but he could still make out the words: “Go away; I’m writing”. His mother had given it to him when he had sent out his first manuscript to various publishers and literary agents. It had stood next to his laptop as a good luck charm every time he had refreshed his inbox the six months after that.

Though it had been rubbish as a charm, it was still useful, Bilbo thought as he poured the boiling water over the tea bag. _Unlike my writing_ , he added mentally, even though they apparently both reach the same low level of originality.

As his tea steeped, he looked over at the couch, about three feet away from the kitchenette, but then everything in Bilbo’s flat was never more than three feet away from something else. 

Thorin had shed his heavy coat and unbuckled his wide belt to lie more comfortably on the narrow couch with the worn and flowery upholstery fabric, an inheritance from Bilbo’s late grandmother. 

Though Thorin was obviously broad-shouldered and quite strong-looking, as he lay there quietly with most parts of his large costume removed, he looked more vulnerable and other-worldly. Almost as if he had really transported from some medieval-fantasy land with dragons and princesses and into Bilbo’s boring world. Well, Britain had its share of princesses but they were so rarely kidnapped by dragons. What a shame, Bilbo thought with a sip of his tea, it would have made the royal family a lot more fun.

He picked up his phone from the table and checked the time. He had to get going very soon. But what to do about the stranger on his couch?

‘Thorin?’ Bilbo shuffled next to him with one hand dangling in front of him, not knowing if it was okay to touch. ‘Thorin, you have to wake up now.’

Awareness returned slowly to Thorin’s face as he blinked slowly against the early morning light. His eyes squinted at what he was seeing until they reached Bilbo. ‘Oh,’ he said, his voice rough from sleep, ‘I thought I had dreamt it all. I thought that I would be returned to Erebor by now.’

Bilbo sighed. ‘Look, Thorin or whatever your name is, you’re taking it too far now. It’s not funny anymore.’ He rubbed the back of his neck in irritation. ‘I have to get to work. Before I go, do you need to borrow my phone to call someone to come pick you up? Your girlfriend, boyfriend, family, friends…?’

Thorin stared up at him, his blue eyes shining. ‘You have been very kind to me. We are strangers to each other and yet you have given me food, shelter and help in this foreign land. And I do not even know your name.’

Bilbo blew out a breath. ‘It’s Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins. Now, do you need to use my phone?’

In one fluid movement, Thorin stood up, letting the thin blanket fall to the floor as he inclined his head at Bilbo. ‘Thorin of Erebor, at your service.’

‘Thanks…I guess?’ Bilbo checked the time and put down his mug of tea. ‘I really have to get going unless I want to run all the way there.’

‘There?’

‘The supermarket across the street from the park where we met.’ Bilbo was already pulling on his jacket. ‘I work the checkout counter.’

‘Excellent.’ Thorin buckled his belt and picked up his heavy coat. ‘I will come with you and wait for the wizard in the park.’

‘Alright, just…’ Bilbo stopped with his hand on the door handle. ‘Just don’t pull your dagger out and wave it about in a public park. People will think you’re going to attack them.’

Thorin pulled at his coat until the fur lay flat against his chest. ‘I would never attack any innocents.’

Bilbo pulled the door open. ‘Yeah, well, in that park you might run into some not-so-innocents.’ As he jogged down the stairs, he could hear the door slam shut and Thorin’s heavy boots coming down behind him. 

Well, Bilbo thought, at least I got him out of my flat.

 

X—X

 

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

Bilbo allowed his hands to settle into the familiar movements back and forth over the conveyor belt as he raised his gaze to the customer. They were paying him no attention, as usual, so he chanced a glance out of the full-length windows facing the park. 

He was still there, sitting quietly next to an equestrian statue of some 19th century general. Other times when Bilbo had checked on him during his shift, he had been on his feet, pacing back and forth, sometimes staring up at the sky as if God himself was going to lift him away from his current situation.

‘Something should really be done about that.’

Bilbo looked back at the customer. ‘What?’

‘The homeless hanging around in the park,’ the customer said, gesturing at the windows. ‘Someone should move them. After all, what do we pay the police for if not that?’

The _beeps_ slowed down. ‘They’re not bothering anybody,’ he said softly, wondering if his manager was within listening distance.

‘It’s not a pretty sight, is it? And in a public park, as well!’

‘Well, where else do you expect them to go? There’s only one homeless shelter in this part of--’

The customer continued his haranguing, not needing Bilbo to be an active participant in this conversation. ‘And how do I explain to my children why there’s some dirty, bearded man digging through the trash?’

Bilbo glanced back at Thorin as he finished running the last of the groceries through the scanner. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘I always found homelessness a pretty easy concept to understand. But if your children are anything like you, they might struggle with it,’ he said with a smile. ‘That’ll be £11.80, please.’ 

He could feel his heart racing but he kept a pleasant expression on his face. He had wanted to do that a thousand times since he started this job – wanted to tell some idiot customer, who used him as a receptacle for their garbage opinions, to basically fuck off.

The customer frowned, having obviously not paid fully attention to Bilbo. ‘What did you say?’

Bilbo smiled wider, using his most polite expression. ‘That’ll be £11.80, please.’

Still frowning, the customer handed Bilbo a £10 note and some coins before walking off with his shopping, the automatic doors closing behind him.

The customer had been the last in a long queue and the store was practically empty by now. Right, Bilbo thought with another glance at Thorin, time for lunch.

 

X—X

 

Thorin was still there when Bilbo jogged across the road, clutching two sandwich packages to his chest.

‘Hey,’ he said, feeling a bit winded.

Thorin stood up to greet him. ‘Bilbo. Have you finished your work for the day?’

‘No, still have to go back after lunch.’ He held out the sandwiches. ‘Hungry?’

‘Thank you, yes.’ Thorin sat back down on the bench where Bilbo joined him.

‘What do you want?’ Bilbo held out the packages. ‘Cheese & Onion or Egg Mayonnaise?’

‘Since only one of those sounds like a food to me, I will take the cheese and onion.’

‘Here,’ Bilbo handed off the cheese & onion and pulled open the lid on his own sandwich.

Thorin turned the sandwich package in his hands, his nails scratching against the clear window as he tried to open it.

Bilbo frowned at this. The more he had gotten to know Thorin and see him act around everyday objects, the more he wondered if this whole “Prince Thorin” game wasn’t more a serious mental delusion than the act of an overly serious fantasy role-player.

‘Let me,’ Bilbo said softly, reaching out to pull open at the tab in the bottom corner.

‘Thank you,’ Thorin said, taking out half a sandwich and biting into it. He chewed. ‘This is…this is…’ He swallowed thickly.

Bilbo smiled as he bit into his own sandwich. ‘Awful, I know. The filing’s minimal and the bread’s like soggy cardboard.’

Thorin turned to look at him. ‘Then why do you eat it?’

Bilbo shrugged. ‘Because the sandwich only costs 85p, and I’d like to keep paying my rent every month.’

‘If you need coin, then please--’ Thorin balanced the sandwich on his lap while he dug a hand into his pocket. ‘People have been throwing these in front of me all day.’

He gestured for Bilbo to hold out his hand and then emptied a handful of coppery coins onto his palm.

Bilbo made a quick count. ‘Thanks but these barely cover half a sandwich. See this?’ He held up one of the many 1p coins. ‘These are so worthless that most people won’t even bother to bend down and pick one up from the ground.’

‘Oh.’ Thorin looked dejected. ‘I thought I could finally help you.’

‘It’s fine,’ Bilbo said, biting into the other half of his sandwich, ‘I like helping you.’

They sat in silence for a moment, eating the remains of their underwhelming sandwiches.

‘What about gold?’ Thorin asked after he’d finished chewing his last bite. ‘Is gold worth anything in this land?’

‘Yes,’ Bilbo said, brushing crumbs from his lap. ‘Very much so.’

‘Then here,’ Thorin said, untying a small leather drawstring bag from his belt and opening it up, ‘take this as a thank you for the use of your couch and for the food.’ He tipped a couple of large, golden coins into Bilbo’s waiting hand which dipped slightly at the surprising weight of the things.

‘Is this…’ Bilbo picked one up to study the roughly stamped coin in the sun. It had an uneven edge with what looked like Northern European runes running along it. In the middle was a carven image of what looked to be a stylized raven with a too-large beak for its body. 

It looked more like a museum piece than legal currency.

‘Where did you get these, Thorin?’ he asked with growing trepidation.

‘These are the coins of my father, the king.’ He shifted closer to Bilbo so he could point out the individual letters decorating the rim. ‘See, Thráin, son of Thrór.’

Bilbo followed his finger, noticing the repeating letters in the two names and how they matched the words Thorin was speaking.

Thorin still sat close, running one finger down the raven in the middle of the coin. ‘It is customary to have the Crown of Durin in the centre, but my father wanted to honour the ravens of Ravenhill for the services they have done for his kingdom.’

‘Services?’ Bilbo whispered, feeling a knot grow in his stomach.

‘As messengers throughout Middle-earth.’

Bilbo swallowed thickly. Some weird part of him, maybe the aspiring writer part, was envious of Thorin’s ability to seemingly build a fantasy world on the spot, full of lineages, history, culture, and all the little details that made a place seem real.

But another part of him was starting to doubt if this was too good for invention.

‘Thorin?’ Bilbo asked as he poured the coins from his hand back into Thorin’s bag. ‘Can I see your dagger again?’

‘I thought you said that it would be too dangerous to take out in a public park?’

‘W-we’ll be careful. Just please…Show me?’

Thorin reached back and removed the dagger from its scabbard. He rotated it deftly until the handle was facing Bilbo who took it slowly from his grip.

The handle had some of the same runes carved into it as the coins, meshing into a geometric pattern running down it. There was no sign of it being factory-made, no traces of a mould. It was definitely hand-made. The blade was of a dark grey steel and quite broad before it tapered to a sharp-looking point. Bilbo almost touched his finger against it before Thorin made a quick hiss and grabbed Bilbo’s wrist.

‘Careful! It’s recently sharpened.’ 

‘Sharpened?’ Bilbo finally noticed how the blade reduced to an almost paper-thin edge. ‘You mean this isn’t a blunt weapon?’

Thorin laughed, the first time Bilbo had heard him do so. ‘Don’t be foolish! What use is a blunt weapon? Other than on the training grounds, that is.’

Bilbo almost dropped the dagger on the ground. ‘Look, what’s going on here?’ He turned towards Thorin, sitting sideways on the bench. ‘You’re wearing what looks to be the fur of a wolf or something. You give me gold coins, which look like they’ve been recovered from an ancient Viking grave. And you carry a large, sharpened dagger like it’s an everyday thing!’

‘Yes, all of that is true,’ Thorin answered. ‘I fail to see what you need to have explained?’

Bilbo breathed in slowly, trying to calm his whirring thoughts. ‘Tell me again where you’re from?’

‘Erebor.’

‘Which is where?’

‘In the North-eastern part of Middle-earth’

‘And your father’s the king?’

‘Yes.’

‘And could you explain to me in detail why you’re waiting for a wizard to show up in the park?’ Bilbo asked, handing the dagger back to Thorin.

Thorin sighed as he slid the dagger back in its scabbard. ‘I am not expecting him to show up. I am expecting him to bring me back from this place where he has sent me.’

‘Sent you?’

Thorin shook his head. ‘It was some new sorcery he wanted to show off to my father’s court, claiming that he knew the spell to move objects and people far distances without the use of ponies or carriages. My brother volunteered me for a demonstration of this skill, thinking it would either expose the wizard or end up embarrassing me in some humorous way. But the sorcery seems have worked far better than even the wizard had imagined.’

‘That’s how you wound up in the park?’

‘One moment I was looking at my brother’s laughing face, the next I was standing in an open field of grass in an unknown foreign land.’ Thorin looked up into Bilbo’s eyes. ‘And then I met you.’

‘So,’ Bilbo said slowly, trying to make sense of it all, ‘you think if you stay in the park, the wizard will be able to find you and bring you back again?’

Thorin nodded.

‘I--’ Bilbo stopped, suddenly becoming aware of how much time had passed. He stood up. ‘I have to get back to work. Will you be alright until I’m done?’

‘Yes.’ Thorin looked up at him. ‘Thank you, Bilbo. And thank you for listening to me.’

Bilbo nodded distractedly before turning back towards the store. He had a lot to think about.

 

X—X

 

It was Sunday morning, and Thorin had spent another night in Bilbo’s flat.

‘Where in the park did you first appear?’ Bilbo asked as he went into his bedroom to get his laptop. He had spent an hour before bed the night before, frantically googling any words he could remember from Thorin’s stories.

“thorin”

_Did you mean: thor?_

“erebor”

_Did you mean: erebos?_

“durin”

_Did you mean: duran duran?_

The only search term that yielded anything was “deathless” but that only led him to a poorly formatted webpage for a Finnish heavy metal band. 

In short, there was nothing to be found which matched any of what Thorin had told him over the last day. And when Bilbo combined this with the strange dagger and the coins, then it seemed more and more as if he had sprung into existence from some other dimension.

‘The first thing I saw was the big field of grass, right behind the bench where you found me,’ Thorin called after him before sitting down on the couch.

Bilbo hummed as he sat down next to Thorin, the laptop balanced on his knees. ‘And what time was it?’

‘Time?’ Thorin shook his head. ‘It was very dark, so well after sunset but still a far way from dawn.’

‘That doesn’t exactly narrow it down. Did you sit on that bench for a long time?’

‘I don’t know. I was mostly consumed by my own thoughts and worries.’

‘Well, the only idea I can come up with to get you back home,’ Bilbo said, ‘is that we have to repeat both the time and the place where you entered our world. And so far, all we’ve got is the place.’

‘Wait a moment,’ Thorin said, sitting up straight. ‘I did hear something strange immediately after I entered the field. A bell ringing somewhere in the distance.’

‘Yes?’ Bilbo asked. ‘That could help us with the time. Do you remember how many times it rang?’

‘I…do not.’ Thorin’s shoulders dropped. ‘But it rang for a long time.’

‘More than six times? More than eight?’

‘It was definitely more than eight. More than ten, rather.’

‘Right,’ Bilbo said, ‘and it was a quarter to one when I met you. You said it was very dark when you appeared…’ Bilbo tapped something into Google, ‘so it was well after sunset which was…’ He clicked a link and scrolled down. ‘…five minutes to nine yesterday. At 10 o’clock it would have still been too light, so you must have been transported into the field at the stroke of either eleven or twelve. Did you hear the bells again while you were sitting on that bench?’

Thorin took a moment to think. ‘No, just the once. I thought it was part of the wizard’s spell but apparently it means something to you?’

‘Yes, it means that you couldn’t have been sitting on that bench for more than 45 minutes when found you, which means we have both the time and the place, and it’s midnight on the large lawn!’ he finished as he looked at Thorin with a huge smile. ‘I feel just like Sherlock Holmes!’

Thorin just looked at him, a puzzled smile answering Bilbo’s grin. ‘Who?’

Bilbo shook his head. ‘Never mind.’ He looked down, feeling suddenly silly. He didn’t see Thorin’s smile growing warmer as he gazed at Bilbo.

‘So,’ Thorin finally said, breaking the silence, ‘we have the time and the place. Do you think that will help?’

Bilbo felt some of the air going out of his earlier triumph. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. But we have to try something, and we might as well try returning to the same spot before midnight tonight. Maybe something will happen. Maybe nothing will happen. But we have to _try_.’

Thorin nodded. ‘I agree.’ He angled his head and moved closer to study Bilbo’s laptop. ‘Did this thing really tell you the exact moment of the sunset yesterday?’

‘Well, it’s sort of like a big library,’ Bilbo said, turning the laptop so Thorin could see more easily. ‘But there’s no librarian to help you. So you write words in this,’ he said as he pointed at the search box at the top of his browser, ‘and you’re shown texts which contain those words.’

‘Fascinating,’ Thorin breathed, craning his neck to look more closely.

‘You can try it out,’ Bilbo offered, his fingers poised above the keyboard. ‘Is there anything you’ve seen in this land you’d like to know more about?’

Thorin thought for a moment. ‘How about…’ He hesitated, preparing his mouth for the new word. ‘How about “soo-pah market”?’

‘Supermarket? Sure.’ Bilbo started typing, ignoring the odd warmth in his belly at Thorin being so interested in where he worked.

He clicked the first link and read out loud, ‘A supermarket, a large form of the traditional grocery store, is a self-service shop--’

‘Self-service shop?’ Thorin interrupted.

‘Yeah, you pick out your own shopping instead of the person behind the counter doing it for you.’

‘Ah,’ Thorin said. ‘Please continue.’

Bilbo focused in on the words on the screen and read on ‘And it offers a wide variety of food and household products.’ He scrolled down. ‘And then there’s some more about the history of the supermarket but that’s the basic definition.’ He looked over at Thorin. ‘Does that satisfy your curiosity?’

Thorin nodded as he studied Bilbo. ‘So you are a grocer?’

Bilbo looked away from Thorin and fiddled with the loose corner of a sticker on his laptop. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘Was your father a grocer, as well? Did he teach you the trade?’

Bilbo chuckled dryly. ‘No, he was a carpenter before he retired. And my mum’s a teacher.’ His nail caught the edge of the loose sticker, tearing it further away from the surface. ‘I don’t really want to work in supermarket, you know?’ He pressed down on the sticker again, warming the dry glue with his finger. ‘All of my life, I’ve wanted to be a writer – to tell stories.’

‘Then why don’t you write stories instead of working as a grocer?’

Bilbo stilled before arching one eyebrow at Thorin. ‘That’s the first time you’ve truly sounded like a crown prince with a bagful of gold attached to your belt.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Food costs money, my flat costs money, this thing,’ he gestured at his laptop, ‘costs money. And you know what doesn’t cost money? My shitty writing because nobody will pay me to do it. But somebody will pay me to work as a _grocer_ ,’ he said, sneering at the last word.

Thorin looked away. ‘I have offended you,’ he said quietly.

‘No.’ Bilbo sighed as he ran a rough hand over his face. ‘You couldn’t have known. I mean, you don’t even know what a supermarket is, for Christ’s sake.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘How could I expect you to be informed about capitalist market forces in 21st century Britain?’

Thorin said nothing.

‘It’s just--’ Bilbo sat forward on the couch, almost knocking over his laptop. ‘If I had time, you know? Time enough to develop my ideas or to edit what I’d already written until it’s good enough to publish? Then I might eventually get paid to write. But right now? I don’t have the time because I don’t have the money. And that’s why I work in a supermarket, giving me even _less_ time to write.’ He stood up, letting the laptop hit the coffee table with a clatter. ‘I’m getting lunch. Do you want some?’

Thorin nodded, his hand gripping his belt as he watched Bilbo open the fridge in the small kitchenette.

 

X—X

 

After lunch Bilbo suggested that Thorin made use of his bathroom to have a shower. Not because he was smelly, exactly, but Bilbo could no longer ignore the fact that Thorin had been wearing the same heavy clothing since Friday night. Also, he obviously came from some ill-defined “Olden Times” period. Wasn’t there some medieval king who had only been bathed twice in his lifetime – at his birth and on his death bed?

Bilbo shuddered at the thought as he picked up his laptop and sat down on the couch. Thorin definitely needed a shower.

He opened his laptop and maximized the ever-present Word document lurking at the bottom of his desktop. His gaze scanned over the screen as he scrolled, enjoying the sight of the paragraphs filling the pages, making lovely patterns against the white background. Until they suddenly stopped. 

Somewhere on page 21, the cursor blinked insistently at him, taunting him with the wide-open space spreading out just beneath the last sentence he had written. That was about a week and a half ago.

Bilbo rolled his head on his shoulders as he vaguely listened to the sounds of the shower hitting the floor on the other side of the thin wall. The words on the screen became unfocused as Bilbo’s thoughts wandered to how Thorin would look under the spray of the water. He had seen him earlier as he darted from Bilbo’s bedroom to the bathroom. He had finally removed everything: his coat, his boots, his tunic and his trousers and had been left in what looked to Bilbo like a Victorian night shirt and bathing trunks, all of it in white linen

Bilbo’s finger worried at the slightly loose “R” key on his keyboard, flicking away a breadcrumb from underneath it. He smiled. How ridiculous Thorin had looked, scuttling through Bilbo’s flat like some prudish maiden aunt. How utterly ridiculous and how soft and small without all the trappings of his elevated station. Bilbo’s smile turned warmer. The hair had been undone from its braids, spreading out over Thorin’s shoulders…

A door shut and Bilbo looked up from his musings, the words on the screen forgotten as he watched Thorin leave the bathroom.

‘Marvellous,’ Thorin said, shaking his head and making water drip from the ends of his wet hair onto the carpet. ‘Simply marvellous.’

Bilbo gladly ignored his laptop and that infuriating bottom half of page 21 for whatever Thorin wanted to talk about. ‘Good, isn’t it? Better than having to carry pots of hot water from the stove.’

He smiled at Thorin, his eyes dropping slightly. The linen underwear, the ones which had been so silly-looking to Bilbo earlier, had now acquired spots of dampness from where Thorin had been ineffectual with the thin towel. There was a bit beneath the left knee, an oblong shape along Thorin’s side and an almost see-through spot stretching over his belly, dark hairs being pressed against the skin by the wet fabric. 

Bilbo caught himself with a quick indrawn breath and forced his eyes upwards, careful to keep them above Thorin’s shoulders. That was another thing about these ill-defined “Olden Times”: homosexuality wasn’t exactly on the menu, so to speak. In fact, it probably wasn’t even an off-menu item, either. It was likely something you had to meet the dishwasher in the alley behind the restaurant to get a hold of, stuffing it in your mouth quickly before a passing priest found you out.

‘But how does the water travel through the pipes to your bathroom? It must be some incredible feat of engineering.’ Thorin was still drying his hair, ignorant of Bilbo’s momentary lapse in attention. ‘Maybe we could implement something like this in Erebor.’

‘Uh…’ Bilbo blew out a breath as he thought. ‘Dunno. I’ve never really thought about it. Something to do with building and releasing pressure, maybe?’ He shrugged, trying to brush away the sting of appearing ignorant in front of Thorin.

Thorin hummed. ‘Well, it _can_ be done. That is the important point. And Erebor has the finest engineers in all of the Middle-earth.’ He stood taller at this boast. ‘They will figure out this conundrum.’

Bilbo nodded, trying to ignore that insistent wink from the cursor at the corner of his eye. He glanced shortly down at the screen.

‘Oh, I apologise,’ Thorin said, folding the towel in his hands. ‘I have interrupted you.’

‘No, it’s nothing,’ Bilbo said, close to shutting the laptop shut. ‘It’s just some of my writing.’

Thorin wavered slightly between the bedroom with the rest of his clothes and the couch with Bilbo, turning the towel between his hands. ‘You can write on that thing, as well?’

Bilbo nodded eagerly, welcoming the distraction. ‘Come and look.’

Thorin sat down next to Bilbo on the couch, still in his linen underwear and with the damp towel thrown over the armrest.

‘You have all the letters here,’ Bilbo said, running his finger over the keyboard before typing in his own name, making it appear as if by magic before Thorin’s eyes.

‘Westron…’ Thorin murmured as his gaze flitted from the keyboard to the screen.

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Thorin said.

Bilbo continued, ‘and you can use them to write words, create spaces,’ he hit the space bar multiple times, making the cursor jump, ‘and you can even erase something you’ve already written,’ he finished, making _Bilbo Baggins_ disappear with a flourish.

‘Amazing,’ Thorin breathed. ‘Think of all the parchment you save. Not to mention the strained wrists and ink-blotted sleeves our scribes suffer at the end of a day’s work.’

Bilbo felt a warm flow of pride. Though he had no part in the creation of the modern computer or any of the word processors, he had grown to enjoy showing Thorin these things, seeing him marvel at everyday conveniences that Bilbo took for granted.

Thorin was still running his eyes over the words on the screen. ‘Writing a story must be no effort at all with a thing like this.’

The warmth in his body chilled. ‘Right,’ Bilbo said, pulling the laptop closer to him again. ‘No effort at all…’ _So what’s my excuse_ , he thought, as the blinking cursor pulled at his attention once more.

They sat in silence for a moment. Thorin was the first to shift.

‘I should get dressed. I do not want to catch my death of cold.’

Bilbo looked away again from the whiteness of the empty document, taking in Thorin in only his linen underwear. ‘I don’t know how you can wear all that stuff every day,’ he said. ‘I would be exhausted just hauling that coat of yours around for an hour. And those boots and woollen socks!’ Bilbo stretched out his leg in front of him, twiddling his toes freely. ‘I kick off my shoes and socks as soon as I get through the door.’

‘Yes,’ Thorin said, looking at Bilbo’s bare feet. ‘I have noticed.’

A small ding sounded from Bilbo’s laptop and he looked down at the screen. In the lower corner was a small message from his games app. Someone on his friend list had started their usual Sunday afternoon marathon of _Legends and Heroes_.

Bilbo’s fingers itched to join him. His character had been left in a tough choice when he had last played Tuesday night – whether to work on upgrading his Scholar Skill or to join a multiplayer quest to slay a dragon on the other side of the map. 

He glanced over at Thorin and spotted an excellent excuse to abandon his writing for now.

‘Thorin? I’d like to show you something,’ he said as he started the game. ‘Something even more interesting than the ability to write words.’

Thorin hummed and moved closer.

The turning acorn of the loading screen disappeared and a menu written in some pseudo-gothic font popped up.

‘Now,’ Bilbo said, turning the screen closer to Thorin, ‘I’m going to show you a game. A game where people of my world pretend to be people of your world.’

Thorin looked at the screen. ‘Middle-earth?’

‘Well, sort of.’ Bilbo clicked _New Player_. ‘Here, let me show you. First we have to create a character for you.’ A hulking man with a five o’clock shadow and in heavy armour stood in the middle of the screen, waiting to be changed to the player’s specifics.

‘Man, Elf or Dwarf? There are different advantages and disadva--’

‘Dwarf,’ Thorin said quickly.

‘Alright.’ _Click_ The character shrunk immediately. ‘Warrior, Builder or Scholar?’

‘Warrior.’

_Click_ The armour changed.

‘Name?’

‘Thorin.’

‘Of course,’ Bilbo said with a quirked eyebrow as he typed.

‘And then there’s the appearance,’ Bilbo said, already pulling on the various sliders with practised ease and watching as the character changed. The hair circled through a multitude of styles before settling into long, dark and loose. The nose became bigger, more defined. The brow grew heavy over blue eyes and a thick beard sprouted on the cheeks and chin. The shoulders widened and the middle became stout and strong.

‘There,’ Bilbo said, putting the laptop on Thorin’s lap, ‘there’s your character.’

Thorin studied the character as it idled in some exaggerated warrior pose on the screen. ‘It looks a bit silly; like a costumed player in some tale performed in a tavern.’

Bilbo frowned. He thought he’d done a pretty good job. ‘Just hit enter,’ he said, pointing at the key.

Thorin carefully extended a stiff finger, his nail scratching against the worn plastic before jabbing the key quickly and retracting his hand.

‘You’ll join the map my character is already in,’ Bilbo said, reaching over Thorin to click through a couple more menu options. ‘That’s the only one where I know my way around.’ He hit one more key. ‘And you’re in.’

The map loaded up in front of them, a lush pine forest stretching out all around them. In the middle horizon, you could see the surface of a clear, blue lake twinkling in the sunshine. 

‘That’s it?’ Thorin lifted the laptop in his hands, angling it in front of his face to get a better view. ‘That’s the game? You’re walking a person around a forest?’

‘There are challenges.’ Bilbo leaned over Thorin again. ‘You’re controlling this person in the middle of the wild. You have a bit of food, some coins and a basic armour and sword. Now you have to find shelter before night falls. Or “Thorin” will die.’

‘Die?’ Thorin’s voice had picked up a hint of interest.

Bilbo nodded. ‘And the sun’s already moving across the sky. You can either spend your time finding the nearest village or you can start hunting animals for their skins to create a basic shelter to last you one night.’ He looked at Thorin to gauge his reaction. ‘Your choice.’

Thorin hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. ‘Will you tell me which way the village is?’

‘Sure,’ Bilbo said, ‘but only because it’s your first time.’ He grinned at Thorin as he took his hand and moulded it into the correct WASD position. ‘Let me show you how to move around…’

 

X—X

 

Several hours later, and Bilbo had finally torn himself away from Thorin’s game. They needed something to eat now if they were going out to the park later on.

The tinny sound of triumphant trumpets sounded from the couch just as he poured some dried pasta into the boiling water. ‘What was that?’ he asked, coming back to Thorin. ‘Did you finally finish your house?’

‘Yes,’ Thorin said with barely concealed glee. ‘I did a quest for a merchant in the village, and she gave me the final amount of iron I needed.’ He looked up at Bilbo, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

‘Excellent.’ Bilbo leaned over the back of the couch, the side of his head almost touching Thorin’s ear. He reached forward to move the camera around Thorin’s house. ‘ _Very_ nice. And look,’ his fingers moved across the mouse pad, ‘it’s very close to my house.’ Bilbo focused in on the small stone cottage near the centre of the village, his curly-headed character just visible through the windows.

‘Oh,’ Thorin said carefully, ‘I did not know that.’

The sounds of watery bubbles bursting came from the kitchen and Bilbo turned around to see to the pasta. ‘Now that you have a house,’ he called over his shoulder as he went, ‘you’ll have people turning up at your door, offering you quests. Or you could just go around the village, seeking out other characters and see what they have to offer.’

Thorin made no reply, once more sinking into the world of _Legends and Heroes_.

After the pasta had been tamed, Bilbo started chopping up the red peppers and garlic with a knowing grin.

The next time Thorin looked up; it was to the sight of a plate of pasta, peppers and pesto being waved next to his face.

‘Time for dinner,’ Bilbo said, handing off the pasta to Thorin and sinking into the couch next to him with his own plate. 

‘What are you doing now?’ Bilbo asked as he looked at the screen. “Thorin” looked to be running through the forest closest to the village. ‘Some sort of fetch quest?’

The character stopped and relaxed into its idling animation as Thorin forked food into his mouth. ‘A wandering bard stopped by the tavern and warned the village of a small party of marauders just outside the walls. They are planning to attack the village after nightfall, and I am going to find them before they find us.’

Bilbo finished chewing his own mouthful. ‘No, Thorin. You need much better armour before attempting something like that. That group would only need to deliver a couple of blows before defeating you. And remember what happened with the wolf,’ he said.

‘That was through no fault of mine!’ Thorin protested as he gestured to the keyboard. ‘The buttons of this thing are much too small for any decently sized fingers.’ 

Bilbo grinned as he chased a piece of pepper around his plate. ‘I’m just saying - that was the first time I’ve ever seen someone defeated in their very first fight. And I’ve played this game with my nephew. My nephew who is a child.’ He looked at Thorin with a raised eyebrow. ‘A young child.’

‘My point, exactly,’ Thorin said, ‘Small child; small fingers!’ He raised his fork in triumph, his eyes glinting with mirth.

Bilbo laughed. ‘Point taken.’ He relaxed back into the couch, his plate balanced on his lap as he studied Thorin for a moment. ‘Do you have any children?’

Thorin shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Any nieces or nephews?’

‘No.’ Thorin hesitated, slowly chewing his next bite. ‘But looking at the way my brother is carrying on with half the population of Erebor; I might be surprised by two or three all at once.’

Bilbo noticed how Thorin’s smile turned warmer after mentioning his brother, how his gaze took on a faraway quality as if he was revisiting memories from long ago.

‘You miss him,’ Bilbo said after a moment.

Thorin put down his plate on the coffee table as he sighed. ‘I wonder if I will ever see him again.’

Bilbo leaned forward to place his own plate on the table as well, checking his phone as he did. They still had time. ‘Tell me about him?’

‘He was always funny, even as a child. Very well-liked though he often gave our tutors grey beards with his antics.’ Thorin shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He is the one person I know best in the world but I lack the words to tell you about him. He is too large in my mind for simple descriptions and small anecdotes.’

Bilbo nodded, understanding the feeling.

Thorin suddenly laughed as he remembered. ‘Once, my father and his court were expecting the visit of a foreign dignitary. We waited and we waited for an official announcement of their arrival but none came. Their ponies were in the stables, their servants had been fed in the kitchens but there was no sign of the guest of honour. It was only when Frerin – my brother – sauntered in with the flushed and rumpled diplomat that we realised that he had waylaid them and invited them to _tour the mines of Erebor_ with him,’ Thorin finished with a raised eyebrow full of meaning.

Bilbo laughed as well. ‘You did say that he enjoys the company of ladies.’

Thorin shook his head as he chuckled lowly. ‘The company of _everyone_.’

Bilbo felt his back straighten. ‘Oh.’ Not so “Olden Times” after all. Bilbo licked his lips before asking, ‘how about you?’

‘Hm?’

‘What kind of company do you prefer?’

‘Well, I--’ Thorin paused, looking down at his hands. Bilbo could hear his breathing halt as he contemplated what to say.

He finally released his breath and raised his eyes to Bilbo’s face. ‘I have recently discovered that I quite enjoy the company of grocers.’

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile wider. ‘Really?’

‘Since the hour grows close to our parting, I wanted to tell you before... even though I know that nothing will come of it--’ He stopped himself with a rueful chuckle. ‘If Frerin were here, there would be no end to his teasing right now. He often chided me for being too slow in these things. And now, after only two days--’ He smiled cautiously at Bilbo. ‘I have never experienced anything like this before.’

Bilbo’s body felt warm and he returned Thorin’s smile. ‘I’ve enjoyed this, too,’ he said, shifting closer on the couch. ‘Even though I never thought I’d fall for someone who carried a dagger as a matter of course.’

‘I never thought that I would fall for someone who _didn’t_.’

Bilbo’s giggle was cut short by the sound of chiming bells from outside his flat. They sat in silence as they both counted. Eight - Nine - Ten… Eleven. One hour to go.

Bilbo closed his eyes shortly, pressing down on the chilly sensation in his stomach. ‘We should get ready.’

 

X—X

 

Their hands swung close as they walked through the deserted park, the edges just teasing each other with hints of warmth. Neither of them moved closer nor moved away, content with just feeling a fleeting touch once in a while. There was no promise in that.

The bench where he had first met Thorin came into view, a fixed point where Bilbo could aim his attention, trying to ignore the crunch of the gravel beneath their feet as they walked closer.

‘Is this the place?’ Bilbo asked as they finally reached the bench. They stood next to each other, facing the lawn behind it.

‘Yes,’ Thorin said, ‘this is where I appeared.’ He fell silent again.

Bilbo checked his phone. ‘We still have time.’

Thorin’s fingers stretched and closed at his side, drumming nervously against the leather of his coat. ‘It might not work,’ he finally said.

‘Yeah…’ Bilbo said absentmindedly as he gazed out at the empty lawn. Parks were made for people and light and activity. Seeing it like this – bare and dark – sent a small shudder through Bilbo. He could readily believe that an hour of magic and otherworldly portals was approaching rapidly.

He checked his phone again. Any minute now.

‘Bilbo, I--’

_DONG_

The first chime of midnight jolted through their bodies, the lingering vibrations of the bell running down Bilbo’s spine as he turned to face Thorin.

‘Here we go.’

The moment seemed to stand still as they looked at each other, drinking their fill of each other’s faces before glancing back at the lawn.

_DONG_

‘There is something…’ Thorin squinted into the darkness outside the lighted circle of the lamppost. ‘I remember something like that.’

_DONG_

Bilbo looked as well, suddenly noticing an encroaching fog creeping over the manicured grass, like a slow wave slithering onto the sand. Within the space of a breath, it had grown larger, almost reaching the crowns of the nearby trees.

_DONG_

Bilbo looked back at Thorin. ‘Do you think that’s how you get back? By entering the fog?’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

_DONG_

Bilbo felt thick fingers fumbling into the palm of his hand. 

Thorin pulled him closer. ‘Bilbo, if this works – I want to thank you for helping me--’

_DONG_

‘For helping me get back to my home and my family.’

Bilbo had already lost count of the chimes as he stared at Thorin’s face. ‘Thorin, there’s not a lot of time - you have to hurry.’

‘And I am saddened that we did not meet in a shared time and space.’ He pulled at Bilbo’s hand and tilted his face towards him. ‘Please, Bilbo…before I go?’

_DONG_

Bilbo licked his lips as he looked between the thick fog and Thorin’s mouth. ‘Oh, what the hell,’ he said and bent his head towards Thorin, pressing a firm kiss against those lips. They were slightly dry and the beard scratched against Bilbo’s chin, but it was a real and true sensation to hang onto in the middle of this fantastical moment. Bilbo bent his neck to get closer, smelling his own shampoo in Thorin’s hair and listening to Thorin’s pulling in breath through his nose. Strong arms circled his waist, leather creaking as hands brushed over the bottom of his shoulder blades. 

_DONG_

Their lips separated with a sigh.

‘You’re going to have to run,’ Bilbo murmured against Thorin’s cheek.

‘Good.’ Thorin’s lips dragged along Bilbo’s jaw. ‘I need somewhere to put all this excitement zinging through my body.’

Bilbo grinned before taking a step back. ‘Go.’

_DONG_

Thorin turned towards the fog. ‘I will always remember you.’

_DONG_

Bilbo bit his lip to hold back the lump forming in his throat. ‘I could never forget you.’

_DONG_

The fog was close now, no more than 15 to 20 feet away. It wasn’t long before Thorin was at the edge of it, grey clouds flirting around his coat and dampening his furs. He turned back.

‘Farewell, Bilbo.’

_DONG_

‘Goodbye, Thorin.’ 

And he was gone.

The fog dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind nothing but the dark lawn and the yellow circle of light underneath the lamppost. 

The last chime of the bell was still vibrating through the silent air as Bilbo took a deep breath and turned in the direction of his flat.

 

X—X

 

The silence followed him home until his keys hit the coffee table with a loud clatter. He stood with no purpose between the kitchenette and the couch, his feet shuffling as he tried to recognise his empty flat.

Somewhere on the street outside, a car horn sounded, the angry noise pushing Bilbo into movement towards his bedroom and his laptop. A youtube video, perhaps, or maybe just some music. He needed something to cover the silence.

The door handle was still in his hand when he halted at the sight of his bed. Next to his closed laptop was a familiar leather bag, its drawstring pulled tight. Bilbo picked it up, feeling its weight as the heavy golden coins shifted beneath the soft leather.

Still holding the bag, he sat down on the bed with a heavy exhale of breath. He remembered how Thorin was the last to leave the bedroom, needing to get his coat before they returned to the park. And he couldn’t have forgotten his bag by accident, as it had been sitting so prominently next to where Thorin’s heavy coat had pressed Bilbo’s pillow flat.

This was intentionally left behind.

On a whim, Bilbo pulled the laptop closer, opening it with one hand while the other still weighed the bag of gold.

The whiteness of the Word document almost blinded him before the black shapes of page 21, the familiar paragraphs that he had scrolled over so many times, sharpened into view. But now there was a small line added to the bottom of the page, hanging innocently amidst a sea of white.

_payment for your future writing maybe you can tell the story about the grocer who saved a prince_

The hand holding the bag of coins dropped down to the bed as Bilbo goggled at what he was reading. Slowly, as he began to understand the simple message, a smile teased at the edges of his mouth before blossoming to a full-blown grin.

The laptop almost slid to the floor as he fell back against the bed, whooping with laughter at the amazing turn his life had taken over the course of a single weekend.

 

X—X

 

Many years later, in another time and in another place, after a dragon’s attack and the loss of a kingdom, Thorin had arrived at another home.

As he circled the hobbit, he unconsciously made note of not only the similarities but also the differences, marvelling that the beautiful combination of golden-brown hair and deep blue-grey eyes was found more than once in Eru’s creation.

‘Well,’ Thorin finally said, ‘he looks more like a grocer than a burglar.’

He could hear the laughter from his fellow dwarves, but his gaze remained fastened on Bilbo’s face. _Do you know me? Do you remember?_

But Bilbo gave no other answer but a frowned forehead and a quizzical raise of an eyebrow at Thorin’s bewildering remark.

_It is no matter_ , Thorin told himself with a small, rueful smile, _not now when we have all the time in the world to know each other again._

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://hildyj.tumblr.com)


End file.
